


Fierce Blue Ascot

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-17
Updated: 2007-05-17
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Trip learns that Malcolm was a bit of a rock star back in the day. But it's what he does with that knowledge that's truly shocking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

Trip put the final touches on the scene before him, adjusting the poster so that it was just-so. He'd only been in the room for a few minutes, but he'd been laboring on this project for hours beforehand. He'd tried to get access to original posters, but it seemed either they didn't exist, or those that had been printed were long gone, so all this, he'd done on his own. He owed a huge debt of gratitude to his sister, Lizzie, who'd sent him the digital images with their last mail delivery. He'd then had to work long hours, trying to remember the stuff he learned back in his lone graphic imaging class in school, tweeking the pictures so they became the objects before him now. Then he'd had to get them printed poster-size, which was not so easily done without anyone else on the ship knowing about it. 

Trip stood back, a huge grin creasing his face. All his struggles to get this done had been worth it, because the scene was perfect. And some scene it was. It looked like a teenager's bedroom. There were five posters in total on the walls, each one showing a glamorous shot of the band, but one, his particular favourite, showing a close up of the lead singer's face, all attitude and sexual innuendo, big hair and makeup. Perfect. Trip was especially proud of the fact that he'd positioned the posters so they weren't visible when you first walked into the room - he wanted Malcolm to walk in, think everything was fine, then turn around and "Pow!" He only wished he dared add monitoring devices to the room, because he'd just about kill to see the look on Malcolm's face when he -

There was a noise at the door, and his eyes widened in shock. With a quick hand, he slammed off the lights, then ducked into the lav just as the door opened. 

Shit shit shit, he thought as he peered around the doorframe. Malcolm was not supposed to be there yet - alpha shift wasn't supposed to end for another half hour. 

Light spilled into the room from the corridor, and Trip could see the dark form of a man silhouetted in the doorway: Malcolm. When the door closed behind him, the room plunged into darkness - Malcolm's quarters had no exterior window - but Trip could hear Malcolm as he moved to the bed, and as he sat down on it with a soft sigh. The mattress creaked as Malcolm lay down, then twin thumps as boots were pushed off and hit the deck. There were the sounds of zippers being undone, and a soft shuffle as the uniform was sloughed off. 

Shit, the man was probably going to sleep, Trip thought, his mind racing. What the hell should he do? Stay in the lav all night, only to be found during a middle-of-the-night bathroom run, or in the morning? Yeah, right. What the heck would he say when he was found? It might be better just to step out now, reveal himself, and let his surprise be ruined. Maybe he could wait for Malcolm to fall asleep, then creep out? No, there was no way he'd be able to sneak out. Malcolm was normally a light sleeper. If the sound of the door opening didn't wake him, then the light flowing in from the corridor definitely would do it. 

Ah, fuck. There was no choice. Bracing himself for the inevitable, Trip was just about to step out when he heard a soft moan. He froze, and it came again. He closed his eyes in defeat and leaned his head against the wall before him. No way. This couldn't be happening. He heard a soft breath, then the sounds of rubbing, soft susurrations of hand on skin. Unbelievable. This could not be happening. 

He couldn't step out now. It would have been bad enough, before, if he'd revealed himself and been there when Malcolm saw what he'd done to his room. It would have been bad enough to be caught breaking and entering, and then hiding. It was a whole other thing to be caught hiding while man was... Oh, this was bad. Bad bad bad.

Maybe this was actually good? Trip stood up straight, staring into the darkness. Maybe this...activity would knock Malcolm out, make him so tired that Trip could sneak out without Malcolm waking, or at least be fast enough, with Malcolm drowsy enough, to get out before Malcolm realised it was him leaving the cabin? Yeah, all right. That could work. 

Trip a heard soft snap as a bottle top opened, Malcolm likely opening up some oil. Trip felt himself stir. How could he not? The idea of someone rubbing on oil, imagining the feel of someone's hand on his... No. Think of cold showers. Puppies. Baseball? God and country? Malcolm gave a low grunt, and he could hear the soft slap as a slick hand moved up and down over... Gagh, that was not helping. 

It didn't matter that Trip considered himself straight, or that, to his knowledge, Malcolm was straight, too. His building arousal was borne of the combination of a long, stressful mission and a long time since his last girlfriend. It had been a while. His thoughts drifted back to the last woman who had... He smiled, thinking of her lips, breasts, the feel of her ass against his hands as he... Not helping! 

Malcolm's breath hitched, quickening for a second before he held it. His hand slowed. He obviously wanted to prolong the experience. Trip closed his eyes, biting back his own groan. He'd been hoping Malcolm would be quick, but damn it all to hell, he just didn't have that kind of luck, did he? 

The growing ache in his groin was distracting. More than distracting; it was maddening. He was fast losing his ability to think clearly about anything other than... Malcolm let out a soft whimper, and Trip had to bite his lip to hold back his own response. He could go on like this, becoming progressively more distracted, and perhaps making a sound that gave him away. Or he could submit to the inevitable and get it over with. At least, if he did that, he might be able to refocus on the situation at hand. 

He tried to think logically, but, with every one of Malcolm's strokes, every sound the man made, he was finding that increasingly impossible. He could feel his pulse in his dick, an ache in his balls that he was anxious to quell. Desperate for a distraction, he thought, what would T'Pol do? Well, T'Pol wouldn't be in Malcolm's quarters in the first place, would she? What she'd do, it was useless to think of. What he'd like to do to her, that was a different story. He smiled deviously as his hand drifted downward and he rubbed himself through the fabric of his uniform. He was hard as hell. Malcolm groaned, and with that, Trip unzipped himself slightly. He heard Malcolm's breath hitch and he froze, afraid that the man had overheard. Then Malcolm gave out a soft sigh, so Trip started again, more slowly now, his fingers tracing his hardness as he lowered the zipper. That done, he pushed his hand inside and grasped himself. He froze again, the sensation almost too much. He exhaled slowly, and started moving his hand in time with the sound of Malcolm's movements. That was right. That was nice. Sweet. His fingers moved up to the tip, then back down as he started fantasizing, the images coming clear under the cover of darkness. He thought of T'Pol, then his last girlfriend, but when Malcolm moaned his thoughts moved to the posters he'd hung on the wall. That particular image, of the lead singer, was his absolute favourite. Dark hair, fair skin, eyes darkened with kohl, lips shining, slightly open, as if ready for him to... He almost cried out but stifled it, breathing out carefully and slowly despite his heart racing in his chest. He heard Malcolm's breath come louder, the stroking speeding up, and he matched pace as he imagined Malcolm there on the bed, naked, head back, hand on his own cock, eyes closed, mouth open, moaning, and God, what he could do to that mouth, he'd like to slam his d... Malcolm groaned loudly. He bit back his own cry, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, the pain only amplifying his pleasure as he came. 

Trip placed his free hand against the wall before him, scrabbling for support while he let the pulses come, his grip lightening, movement slowing as he came down. He focused on keeping his breathing soft and even, and he stilled his hand. God, he hadn't expected that. But good fuck, that had been hot. 

He wiped his wet hand off on the inside of his uniform, uttering a soft prayer as he did so. Please let Malcolm drop off. Please let him drop off. Please, if there is a God, let him fall asleep and not come into this lav to clean up; not come into this lav, slam on the lights and find him there, hiding, spent, wet, and unzipped. I'll be a good boy. I'll... I'll go to services on Sunday. I promise. I promise. I...

He heard a soft snore, and his prayer turned grateful. Knowing he needed to go now, before Malcolm woke and decided to clean himself up, Trip made for the door. It opened and he stepped out and to the side quickly, hoping that no one was in the corridor but in reality not caring that he was still unzipped, that he probably had evidence on his uniform, or that he likely looked like he'd been well and truly fucked; he just wanted to get out of view quickly enough so that, even if Malcolm woke at the light, he wouldn't realise that the intruder had been him. 

Grateful to find the hallway empty, he did himself up and beat a hasty exit, leaving behind the posters he'd made from the images of Malcolm and his band. Plastered all around Malcolm's room were full-scale, professional-looking mock-ups of posters that immortalised Malcolm in his youth, at around the age of twenty, each emblazoned with the logo for his band, Fierce Blue Ascot. 

Malcolm hadn't told a soul on board of his past life as the lead singer of that retro-synth-pop band. From what Trip had been able to tell, they'd had one hit, back around 2141 - long enough ago that much of the crew, even those into that type of music, likely didn't make the connection between the made-up teenager from the pictures and the professional Lieutenant they'd all come to know and love. That, plus the fact that he'd been using a stage name - something like Ian Westbury - had helped him make the break between that life and this.

Trip relaxed as he rounded the corner, dropping his pace back to normal. Malcolm would never know who put the posters up, and thus who, on the ship, knew about his past life. In fact, he'd bet that, if he went in that room again tomorrow night, all of the evidence would be gone. 

Thinking of Malcolm's room and the man himself, probably lying splayed across the bed, naked and spent, Trip felt the stirrings again, and he bit his lip softly, wincing when it rekindled the pain. That had been hot. He'd do that again. If Malcolm would let him, he'd do... God, he'd do a hell of a lot more. 

Nothing would likely ever happen on that front. Malcolm was straight, and so was he - for the most part. Well, perhaps, in reality, he was straight up with a twist. He'd always known it, suspected it, but he'd never... He smiled slyly. Might be fun to explore where that twist might lead him.

Luckily, he'd kept a copy of that one poster for himself.


End file.
